Resist Order 66
by angelrider13
Summary: Order 66 was more than an order. It was a switch. And when it's flipped and they are told to kill, the clones fight back. AU in which 66 is treated a lot more like the brainwashing it is and the clones are absolutely not okay with it. Series of one shots.
1. Trust: Bly

**Hello, everyone!**

 **So lately, I've been pretty into Star Wars and I woke up yesterday morning with this thought in my head:  
**

 **After having watched the Clone Wars and everything that came with it, good and bad, I firmly believe that the clone would absolutely NOT be okay with Order 66. In the show, its revealed that they have chips in their brains that will make them carry out 66 whether they want to or not - they aren't given a choice in the matter. And from what I've seen, the chip works a bit like a switch. It turns off who they are as a person and switches them over to this mindless soldier who will follow orders without question. (Good soldiers follow orders.)**

 **What if, when that happens, the clones are still aware of whats happening? What if it's like those mind control tropes where they're trapped in their own heads with no way out? What if instead of just following orders, they fought back against the programming?**

 **They wouldn't be 100% successful, of course, because this is like complete brain washing and removal of autonomy, and not all of them would fight it. But those that worked closely with the jedi? Those that have fought with them and bled with them? Have been protected by them? Those that have been treated like _people_ by the jedi rather than the meat clankers a large portion of the Republic sees them as? They will fight against 66 with everything that they are. They will do everything that they can to make sure that their Generals live. They will find ALL of the loopholes around the order**.

 **And it demanded to be written. So I wrote it. This is my attempt at making Order 66 slightly less awful. That being said, this is a fic centered around Order 66 so there will be feels EVERYWHERE. Have tissues ready.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars but I do own this story.**

* * *

Trust

Bly

* * *

Bly is following his General through a jungle when he hears it. He's at his General's right shoulder, just as he always is, ready to defend, to protect, to issue orders, to do whatever he needs to do. He's at his General's back because she trusts him to be there and to guard it and he has no intentions of ever failing her in that.

But then he hears it.

 _Execute Order 66._

Bly feels cold wash over him and his blaster suddenly feels heavy in his hands.

 _Good soldiers follow orders._

Bly is a good soldier, has always been a good soldier – it's why he's General Secura's Commander. He follows the orders that he is given. But not without question, never without question. Because Jedi aren't made for war and General Secura told him as much when they first met at the start of this mess. She needed him to help. And if he thought something was wrong, she told him not to hesitate asking. Because following orders blindly is a good way to get killed.

 _Good soldiers follow orders._

He feels his arms come up, blaster in hand, and he's screaming but no one seems to hear him. This is _wrong_ , there is nothing right about this. General Secura is _his_ and he was _made for her_ so why is this happening? This is not the kind of order he should follow. He won't, he _can't –_

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

He hears his men beside him raise their blasters the same time he does. He sees his General straighten and glance at them in surprise before spinning quickly to look through the trees, lightsaber in hand, ready to use. He's shouting at her in his head – telling her that she's facing the wrong way. The threat isn't in front of them, it's behind her. But he knows his General, knows what she's thinking. Knows that she _trusts_ them and that they have obviously seen a threat that she has missed. Except –

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

Except they are the threat.

He grits his teeth, finger curling around the trigger even as his mind is at war with itself. It's not working, he knows it's not working. So Bly stops pulling. Instead he _pushes_ just as he pulls the trigger. His shot catches the General in her right shoulder. Non-fatal.

Before she can react, Crackshot fires. Left hip. Non-fatal.

And even though he's still screaming, Bly and his brothers open fire on their General's unprotected back. Unprotected. Because they are supposed to be protecting it. Because she trusted them with it. And now they are breaking that trust.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

Upper back. Non-fatal.

Left thigh. Non-fatal.

General Secura goes down, but they keep firing and Bly feels every blow.

Left shoulder. Non-fatal.

Left arm. Non-fatal.

Right hip. Non-fatal.

Right torso. Non-fatal.

General Secura is still now, her body jerking each time a shot connects.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

 _I DID!_ Bly shouts back, jerking his blaster up and away.

"Hold!" he yells, finally, _finally_ , able to speak.

His men stop immediately. He's kneeling by his General before he even realizes what he's doing. She's still conscious and Bly _aches_ when he sees the look in her normally bright brown eyes. She's looking up at him, eyes full of recognition – full of pain and surprise and _betrayal_ – and Bly wants to weep. To break down right there and beg for forgiveness.

But he can't because he can hear that _thing_ in his head stirring at the sight of his General still alive. He crushes it viciously and shoves it into the darkest corner of his mind.

 _Bly?_

He chokes.

His General's voice is in his head.

His General's voice is in his head and it is so full of hurt and confusion.

"Commander?" he hears Tyto call from behind, his voice shaken and broken, "Is she -?"

"General Secura is dead," Bly says firmly, even as he gestures Patch over. His General is looking up at him still, her eyes remaining on his and he can't look away. "I'm sorry, General," he says softly, only for her, "Order 66, we had to. I'm so sorry. Please sleep. I know you can't trust us anymore, but _please_."

He chokes, his voice catching in his throat. He feels Patch place a hand on his shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze, before rummaging through his medkit. General Secura keeps looking at him – he can feel the weight of her gaze pressing down on his shoulders.

And then she nods – just a slight tip of her head – and her eyes slide shut. Bly doesn't know if it's because she still trusts them or if it's because she knows she has no other choice. He doesn't know which option hurts more.

"Tyto. Barr," he calls, "Go prep the General's star fighter."

He's still not looking at them – still can't look anywhere but his General's face, slack with unconsciousness but far from peaceful. But he hears the "Sir" and footsteps leaving. He feels more than sees his men gather around them in a loose circle. Patch is quick, applying becta gel and bandages, lips pressed together in a grim line.

"What have we done?" Crackshot asks in a choked, horrified whisper that still manages to somehow echo in the air around them.

 _Good soldiers follow orders._

Bly's hand curl into fists so tight his gloves creak from the strain. "We followed orders," he answers tonelessly.

No one says anything.

They can't.

They have no idea what just happened.

All they know is that they just failed their General in the worst possible way. And there is no way they will _ever_ be able to make up for it.

Patch sits back, blowing out a long breath. "I've done what I can," he says, "But it's bad. And she can't stay here with us."

Bly nods. He knows as well as his brothers that the voice in their heads isn't gone. He can feel it pushing in the back of his mind, shoving against the corner he's forced it into. His head is pounding with the worst headache he's ever had in his life and it's getting worse by the second.

"No, she can't," he agrees, shoving his blaster at the medic before carefully – oh so carefully – scooping up his General.

Her body is completely limp, her head lolling awkwardly against his shoulder. But she's warm. Bly can feel the tell-tale rise and fall of her chest even through his armor.

She's alive.

And Bly is going to make sure she stays that way.

* * *

Bly tugs at the seat restraints one last time to make sure they're secure before closing the cockpit. General Secura is still unconscious and has remained that way since they brought her back.

"Alright Arnine," he says, turning to the astromech he's trusting with his General. He's flown with Arnine a few times even though he is primarily General Secura's droid. He's a stubborn little thing and he's loyal to a fault. "I need you to stay with General Secura. When she wakes up, make sure to give her the message. Can you do that?"

Arnine beeps an affirmative.

Bly places a hand on the droid's dome. "Thanks. We're counting on you. Take care of our General. We probably won't be seeing you again."

Arnine trills mournfully, but promises all the same.

Bly climbs down off the star fighter and backs away. "Get her out of here, Arnine!" he calls.

The astromech starts up the fighter and Bly forces himself to watch the ship leave the hanger. He keeps watching until the ship enters hyperspace. The ache in his head immediately lessens.

His General is out of his reach.

* * *

 **First chapter done! Think I'm gonna post something from Aayla's pov next.**

 **Thoughts? Feelings? Did I make anyone cry? Is this terrible for a first Star Wars fic?**

 **Let me know!**

 **Until next time,**

 **~Elri**


	2. Trust: Aayla

**Hello all!  
**

 **Thank you to everyone who gave me some feedback. Here is the second half of "Trust" where we focus on Aayla in the aftermath of Order 66.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars but I do own this fic.**

* * *

Trust

Aayla

* * *

When Aayla wakes, the first thing she sees is white.

There's white above her and around her and it's so very, very bright. Too bright. She closes her eyes quickly, hiding from the glare.

Then she feels the pain. Her back _aches_. And she has no idea why. She has obviously been injured, but her back never aches. It's always somewhere else. Because her back is always protected by –

Aayla sucks in a sharp breath, eyes flying open.

Bly.

Crackshot.

Patch.

Tyto.

Barr.

Grip.

Pulse.

Her men.

 _Hers_.

They shot her.

She trusted them with her back – like she has done so many times throughout this war – and they shot her.

She remembered hearing them arm up. Remembered scanning the trees for the enemies they must have seen. Why else would they be arming up? But there had been no warning, no sense of danger in the Force and Aayla hadn't understood until she felt the sharp burn of a blaster bolt striking her shoulder. And then they kept shooting.

Why?

What had happened?

What had _changed_?

Aayla breathes in deeply, pushing down her panic and her pain and her confusion, and then breathes it out. She reaches out for the Force, questioning, wondering, sinking into meditation easily.

Only to nearly be knocked out the moment she enters. It is chaos. The Force is screaming with the death of thousands. The echoes of surprise, of betrayal, surround her. There is so much _pain –_

She gasps, returning to herself.

She doesn't understand.

But if her men had turned on her, who else had they turned on?

So many dead. Why is this happening?

Why is she even here at all?

Her men shot her.

The Force echoes with death.

And yet here she is.

Alive.

What had happened?

" _I'm sorry, General. Order 66, we had to. I'm so sorry."_

Bly.

Bly was apologizing.

Her Commander had looked so broken, so defeated.

Order 66 he'd said.

"Ah. You're awake."

Aayla blinks, turning to the side to see a medical droid hovering at her bedside.

"Where?" she croaks. She frowns. Her mouth is dry and her tongue feels heavy behind her teeth.

"You are at Polis Massa," the droid answers, "You arrived eight point three hours ago in a star fighter piloted by an astromech unit. You were unconscious."

Aayla's brow furrows. She doesn't remember getting in a star fighter. The last thing she recalls is passing out in the jungle surrounded by her men. Her men who had just shot her in the back.

"Your wounds were serious," the medical droid continues, "But not life threatening. You have been treated for several blaster wounds, though none of them hit anything vital."

She licks her lips before asking, "And when will I be recovered?"

"I would say about a week for full recovery," the droid answers, "Your wounds were well cared for before you arrived and your response to the becta treatment has been positive."

Aayla turns that over in her head. Her wounds had been treated. She is in a medical facility. She's alive. But her men had shot her. There's a disconnect there that doesn't make sense.

She's missing something.

"Excuse me," the medical droid calls, drawing her attention, "The astromech that you arrived with wishes to speak with you. He is quite insistent."

Aayla nods and the medical droid helps her sit up. The movement pulls at her wounds, but it isn't the physical hurt that bothers her.

Seeing Arnine roll into the room is a surprise. She blinks down at the little droid, watching as he beeps happily at her.

"Arnine?" she asks, "What happened?"

Arnine beeps, rolling back a bit. Before Aayla can question him, the droid starts playing a holo message.

Aayla stares at the image of her Commander. He's without his helmet and she can see his expression clearly. He's pale, lips pressed together in a thin line, eyes pinched in a way that she has come to recognize means that he is in pain and trying not to show it.

"Bly," she whispers.

"General," the recording says, "We don't have a lot of time. It isn't safe to keep you with us any longer. Order 66 has been issued and fighting it off is taking everything we have. Patch has already had to sedate Green and Mix. The rest of us are reaching the end of our rope."

Bly takes a slow breath, rubbing at his temples. "We broke your trust, General," he says firmly, lowering his hand and standing military straight, "You gave us your back and we shot you. Please believe me when I say we never wanted to." Bly's brow furrows and his lips tremble and all Aayla can do is stare because her Commander looks like he's three seconds away from _crying_. "We didn't want to, but we _had_ to. We had to shoot you. We – "

Bly cuts off, making a strangled sound in the back of his throat, pressing his knuckles against his mouth. He gives himself a moment before speaking again.

"Order 66 came down," he says softly, resting his hands behind his back but not before Aayla sees them shaking, "It's a contingency order that states: In the event of Jedi officers acting against the interests of the Republic, and after receiving specific orders verified as coming directly from the Supreme Commander, GAR commanders will remove those officers by legal force, and command of the GAR will revert to the Supreme Commander until a new command structure is established."

And Aalya _stares_. The Supreme Commander ordered the slaughter of the Jedi. The Supreme Commander. The _Chancellor_. She covers her mouth in horror.

"None of us were aware of the contingency order before it was given," Bly continues, "Once it was given, it…it's like it took over. Good soldiers follow orders." He stops and Aayla can see the pain in his eyes. "It physically _hurts_ to know that you are alive in the next room and not go over and shoot you. There's this _thing_ in our head that's telling us that you need to die. And it's not shutting up. The harder we push, the louder it gets and – I'm so sorry, General. We _had_ to."

The expression on her Commander's face is so broken, so _haunted_ , that she finds herself reaching out to sooth the hurt before she's even aware of what she's doing. Her fingers connect with his image and it wavers and Aayla _aches_ because she remembers that expression. It was the expression Bly had looked at her with before she passed out from the pain. All she could feel at the time was the pain and the confusion and the betrayal of the moment. But now she looks back on that instant where she brushed against her Commander's mind in a desperate plea for answers. She remembers the absolute agony he was in – the desperate urge to break down and _beg_ for forgiveness on his knees. She remembers the loud denial and the horrified silence that echoed in quick succession in his head.

Aayla feels tears streaming down her face and she can't bring herself to care. Her Jedi calm is absolutely shattered. The Order – her _family_ – is dying and their murderers are trapped inside their heads screaming.

"Patch fixed you up as best he could," Bly says, "But we need to get you away from us before we snap. Arnine has instructions to take you to a medical facility not affiliated with the Republic. I gave him instructions to play this for you once you woke. If you're seeing this, it means you made it safely. I'm glad."

Here Bly pauses and seems to struggle with himself for a moment. "I don't think we'll be seeing you again, General. But if we do, please, _please_ , fight back. We'd never be able to forgive ourselves if we killed you."

Her Commander looks at her through the message, somehow meets her eyes. He salutes her. "It's been an honor, General," he says softly, sincerely, "May the Force be with you."

The hologram flickers out and Arnine makes a mournful sound, rolling as close to the bed as he can. Aayla reaches out and places a hand on his dome, her fingers trembling.

"Thank you, my friend," she says.

Arnine beeps at her and Aayla doesn't have then energy to try and decipher his meaning.

All she can think about is her men. Trapped. Bly's haunted eyes and broken voice. What have they done?

"Bly," she whispers, a fresh wave of tears hitting her, "How much have we broken you?"

Her Commander.

Her men.

 _Hers_.

Aayla does not like the way Bly spoke of a voice in their heads. It sounds almost like Force suggestion. But stronger. Crueler. Less a suggestion and more a command. Harder to fight off. But they had. For her.

For her they had fought this cruelty.

She will not betray that loyalty with abandonment.

The 327th is _hers_.

And Aayla is going to make sure it stays that way.

* * *

 **Aaaaaand that's the end of this little arc. I might come back to Aayla's story later, but next chapter is going to be about someone else. Slowly working my way through the Order, one jedi at a time.**

 **Let me know what you think!**

 **Until next time,**

 **~Elri**


	3. Choice: Neyo

**Hello all!**

 **Here is the next chapter. As I stated last time, we're moving away from Aayla and the 327th. We're going to start bouncing around to other moments during Order 66. I'm warning you now that not all of the story arcs are going to be the same length. Some of them - like this one - will only be one chapter long. Others could be as long as five. Please not that this is only for Order 66 arcs. Once we move into the aftermath of 66, I haven't quite worked out how those arcs are going to work yet; I'll let you know when I get there.**

 **Thank you to everyone who took the time to review!**

 **Warning you guys now that I got _really_ emotional while writing this one. I actually cried on this one. Which I don't understand AT ALL, by the way. We only see these characters for like 5-10 seconds during the 66 sequence in ROTS. How the hell did I get this attached to them?**

 **Disclaimer: Still don't own Star Wars. Still own this story.**

* * *

Choice

Neyo

* * *

They are on Saleucami when it happens.

It's a normal reconnaissance run on the Techno Union's latest activities. Get in, get the information and get out. Simple. Easy. They've done it thousands of times already. Neyo rather likes to think they're the best. He's not being boastful – it's just something that is. They're good at their job.

He and Glen are riding with General Allie, the sky overcast, making the landscape gray and dull with only the occasional spots of color provided by the strange, bulbous plant life that seems to thrive on this world.

Neyo's com beeps and he wonders if Knife's unit beat them to the prize. He seems to have some sort of competition with Glen going. With an absent shake of his head, he activates his com and –

 _Execute Order 66_.

Neyo is a trained soldier. He's too good to freeze up despite how much he wants to. Still, he feels like ice is washing through his veins and clawing at his brain. He raises his arm and makes a gesture to Glen to fall back and Glen _does_.

What the Sith hells is going on? This is not him. He didn't give that order. He doesn't _want_ to follow this order –

 _Good soldiers follow orders._

Neyo growls at the voice echoing in his head. Good soldiers follow _good_ orders. They follow orders that are _right_ and not ones that are screaming at him to kill his General in cold blood. This is not supposed to happen. But it is. Even as Neyo struggles against it, he feels his body obeying the voice's demands. And the General doesn't flinch, doesn't look back at them, doesn't find it at all strange that her men have just fallen back behind her. And why should she? She trusts them.

He strains against it, tries to fight it off. He wills Glen to question his orders –

 _Good soldiers follow orders._

– to do something, anything to warn the General about what's coming, what he's about to do. But that's when he realizes the same thing is happening to Glen. Glen who is younger than him by two years. Glen who has only been with them for nine months. Glen who was laughing and joking with General Allie only the night before. How could this _happen_? This is not them. This is not how the 91st does things, how they treat their own.

And for all that they are clones and she a jedi, General Allie is very much one of their own.

 _Good soldiers follow orders._

 _No, good soldiers question orders, you stupid kriffing voice_ , Neyo snarls right back.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

He feels his fingers curling around the trigger to his speeder's laser canons. He's going to shoot his General. Him and Glen both. They're going to kill her. And she won't ever know what happened. She won't ever know that she was killed by people she trusted.

Neyo would die for his General. He knows that any of his brothers would to the same. He knows that far too many have. But he also knows that his General would die for him, a clone. Just a clone. Nothing special about him. And yet his General – this natural born _jedi_ – would lay down her life for his without a second thought.

Neyo has a choice.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

No.

No they don't.

Good soldiers die for their Generals.

Neyo stops fighting for control of his body – he _demands_ it. He surges forward and seizes control with both hands and _holds_ just as his fingers start to squeeze the trigger. He doesn't have time to see what Glen is doing, if he's managed to fight it off or if he's still out of it. He doesn't have time to think about anything and his head is pounding and the voice inside him is screaming so loud it's ringing in his ears.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

Neyo jerks his controls to the side, slamming his speeder into Glen's. They both go tumbling and then his world is nothing but heat and pain and sharp, jagged edges. His vision whites out and he hears his General's cry of surprise turn to one of worry.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOL_ –

No. They don't.

Good soldiers do what they have to because it is the _right_ thing to do and damn the consequences.

Neyo hurts. He can't feel his legs and his vision is bright with fire from his burning wreck of a speeder. His helmet is gone and he can feel the heat against his skin.

"Neyo…"

The voice is cracked and weak, but he'd know the voice of a brother anywhere. He makes himself turn his head even though his body very much does not want to move right now. Glen is sprawled out a short distance away, his helmet gone, blood dripping from a gash across his forehead, arms twisted at awkward angles.

The sight hurts far more than he thought it would. He made his choice, he did, and he knows that it was the right one. But Glen is still his brother. His little brother. And he just killed him. And, god, how is he ever going to make that right?

"Neyo," Glen croaks, a small smile on his lips, "Thanks."

Neyo goes still. His eyes are flooding and his throat burns. "Glen…?"

"Was gonna…was gonna kill the General. Didn't wanna. Couldn't stop. So…th-thanks," Glen says and Neyo can tell it's a struggle for his brother to speak but he keeps forcing the words out anyway. "Gotta…gotta warn her."

Neyo swallows and doesn't bother to stop the tears in his eyes from falling. "I will," he promises, "Go to sleep, little brother. I'll see you on the other side."

"B'tter…" Glen mutters before falling silent.

Neyo has to turn away. He can't look at his brother – the brother _he_ killed – and see those glassy, sightless eyes or the relieved smile on his face.

He made the right choice.

He did.

Glen thought he did to.

But the right choice is never an easy one.

"Neyo! Glen!"

And suddenly, General Allie is there, looming over him. He can see her expression as she catches sight of Glen's body, the way her face crumples.

"Neyo, what _happened_?" she asks, small hands framing his face.

He feels the pain ebb away and knows his General is trying to use the Force to heal him. He reaches up and takes one of her hands in his.

"General," he says, feeling himself weakening even as General Allie tries to pull him back, "You need to leave. Order 66."

His General's brow furrows in confusion and her mouth opens to ask a question when suddenly her face falls in horror.

"What…?" she whispers, staring into space at something he can't see, her hands going slack against him.

"General," he says firmly, giving her hand a tug to pull her back to the present. She doesn't have time to get lost in the Force right now.

His General's eyes snap to his, horror dimming but not fading, determination rising up to take its place. "What's happening, Commander? What's Order 66?"

"Eliminate," Neyo forces out even as the voice in his head rallies against him. He tells it rather nicely to shut the hell up. "Jedi traitors."

General Allie's eyes go wide. "Eliminate? _Traitors_?" she asks in disbelief, "The Jedi are loyal to the Republic!"

"Know that," Neyo answers simply. "Can't fight it. It's in our _heads_. Told us to kill you. Was gonna," he admits, shamed by his weakness.

His General looks at him for a long moment. "But you didn't," she finally says.

Neyo smirks a bit. "Didn't wanna," he says simply.

General Allie shakes her head. "I don't understand; where did this order come from?"

"Supreme Commander," Neyo answers.

"The _Chancellor_?" she cries her eyes wide with disbelief.

Neyo nods. "Need to leave, General. 66's in our heads. Takes control and can't fight it. Stupid kriffing voice still shouting at me ta kill you an' I can't even move." She looks at him then and he can see the grief in her eyes. She knows he's dying. "S'fine, General. Go. Don' let us kill you."

"Oh Neyo," she whispers, her voice cracking and eyes wet, "What have we done to you?"

"Jus' a clone, sir. Don' matter mu – "

"Yes you _do_ ," she hisses fiercely at him, "You do matter. You are important. You are not just a clone. You are not just a number. Not to me. Not ever."

Neyo smiles. He's known that. For a long time he's known that. Still, it's nice to hear it out loud. "S'alright, sir. This is the right choice."

His General is crying. Tears are running down her cheeks and he's dimly aware of her grip tightening on him. She leans down and presses her forehead to his. "I never wanted any of you to die for me," she whispers.

"I know," he answers. Because he does. His General hates death, tries to avoid it as much as she can. But war is brutal and ruthless and cares little for the wants and needs for those trapped within it.

"It's been an honor, Commander," she says, and if she is trembling, he doesn't mention it.

He smiles. "May the Force be with you, General."

She presses a kiss to his forehead, runs shaky fingertips over his cheek, and then she's gone. His vision is going gray at the edges and he can't really hear anything anymore. But that's fine. Glen is waiting for him.

He was given a choice.

He made the right one.

And he doesn't regret it.

* * *

 **Glen is actually only referred to by his number in everything I looked up, so I gave him a name. Also, if you guys are anything like me, this broke your heart, so here. *throws tissue boxes at all of you***

 **Let me know what you think!**

 **Until next time,**

 **~Elri**


	4. Loyalty: Jag

**Hello lovelies!**

 **So who saw The Force Awakens?! I haven't so DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING. Gotta wait for the family to all be in one place before we go see it.**

 **Anywho, I know that some of you have been waiting for this chapter, so I'll let you guys get to it.**

 **Thanks to everyone who reviewed!**

 **Disclaimer: Is the sky still blue? Yes? Then nothing's changed.**

* * *

Loyalty

Jag

* * *

Jag is in the air when it happens.

He's been with the 104th under General Koon for a few months now and a lot of that time had been spent in the air. Jag is absolutely fine with that. Piloting is something he was made to do – the way it makes his blood sing in a way that battle never has. After Katraasii, he never thought he would ever be able to feel that rush again.

But General Koon proved him wrong.

Gave him a chance when others turned him away.

Jag is a member of the Pack now and Pack stays together.

Fights together.

Flies together.

Jag knows he's probably grinning in a way that is entirely unprofessional, but he can't really bring himself to care. He's in the air with his brothers and his General and this new ARC-170 fighter flies like a _dream_.

He's exactly where he wants to be.

His comm beeps and the holo pops up in front of him.

 _Execute Order 66._

Jag's mind blanks.

He dimly hears his own voice replying affirmative before the holo vanishes. He feels like he's been shoved aside, out of his own body, and someone else has slid into his skin and taken the controls while all he can do is watch from inside a glass cage.

He pounds against his prison, slams into it as hard as he can.

Order 66.

He's never heard it before. Didn't even know it existed. But here, in this moment, he knows exactly what it means. Something in his head has snapped into place. Something wrong and vile and honorless.

 _Good soldiers follow orders_.

Jag rallies against it, tries pushing his way through the cage he suddenly finds himself in.

It hurts.

It goes against everything he's learned in this war. Orders are to be followed, yes, but not without individual thought. He and his brothers are good soldiers – it's in their blood, it's what they were bred for. It's something that comes as easy as breathing. His brothers at Katraasii were good soldiers. They had followed his orders, followed where he led. And the only result was complete, unmitigated _disaster_.

Following orders that day is what got his brothers killed.

Following _his_ orders is what got his brothers killed.

For nothing.

And that's what hurts Jag the most.

His brothers, dead because of his error and there is nothing to show for it. Katraasii was lost and everything he knew with it.

 _Good soldiers follow orders._

He was about ready to eat his own blaster when General Koon came along and became a guiding light that led him out of that dark place.

A dark place that this _thing_ in his head is trying to drag him back into.

A dark place where that kindness is repaid with betrayal.

An entire war of death and fighting and darkness and this voice thinks it can take away the one light that he has.

No. He won't. He _refuses_.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

Yes. That's what Jag has always believed. It's what he was trained to believe.

Good soldiers follow orders.

Good soldiers.

Good clones.

But that's not all he is anymore, is it?

He and his brothers are all genetically identical. They all wear the same face. And yet General Koon has never treated them as anything less than the individuals that they are. Which was far more than many others had done for his brothers. But General Koon acted like it was expected. Like they should be treated like _people_ instead of _things_. Like that was the natural order of things. It was a rare attitude to find in this large galaxy.

Clones are people.

General Koon has never treated them as anything less.

He had forever earned Jag's loyalty for that.

And now Jag is getting ready to murder his General in cold blood.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

His mind rages against his body, screaming has he feels his fingers move towards the weapons controls for his fighter with a casual ease that he has always taken pride in before this moment.

That his skills – skills he's spent his entire life perfecting – can so easily be taken and twisted into something he never imagined could exist. Turned against someone he would gladly lay down his life for in the blink of an eye.

Like his loyalty to General Koon never existed.

Like his General's loyalty to him _didn't matter_.

Like it was nothing.

Worthless.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

Jag is screaming inside his head, trapped. Helpless as he watches his body prepare to shoot down General Koon.

He's furious. At himself, at this Force forsaken war, at whatever the hell this thing in his head is. This is not what he was made for. He's a clone. And every clone knows that they were made for the Jedi. Jag had decided three weeks after General Koon offered him a place in the Wolfpack that he had been made for General Koon.

He's a clone.

And in the blink of an eye he's been reduced to nothing but a _puppet_.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

No.

He's better than this. He is. He knows he is because his General has always told him so.

He's not a puppet and he's more than a clone and he _refuses_ to let someone else pull his strings.

He's a pilot. Always has been and always will be. And he's not about to let some twice damned voice in his head take control of what's _his_.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

He forces his way back into his own skin, jerking his hands on the fighter's controls just as his fingers press down on the trigger. His ship swerves out of formation, but Jag doesn't care. His shot goes wide, missing the boosters on the General's fighter completely and sailing over the right wing.

He missed.

He didn't kill his General.

But Jag can't relax yet.

He can feel something tugging at him, trying to drag him back under. He grits his teeth and holds fast to the controls, his gloves creaking from the strain. His head _aches_ and it feels like a bantha is sitting on his chest.

He hasn't killed his General.

Not yet.

His comm flares to life and for a moment he's filled with dread, but instead of seeing the dark, hooded figure that unleashed this hell on him, he sees nothing but his General's concerned face.

"Are you alright, Captain?" General Koon asks, "You've broken formation. Was there a misfire?"

Jag wants to weep.

His General thinks his fighter is malfunctioning. That there is some sort of technical difficulty and that Jag did not just try to shoot him out of the sky. He can't speak; his throat burns and his jaw is clenched so hard it aches.

"Captain?"

Worry.

His General is worried about him.

Worried about his would be murderer.

Jag wants to scream, to rage, to cry, because his General's loyalty is going to get him killed. No. No, that is something that he cannot allow. His General's loyalty deserves to be returned in kind and then some.

And that is what Jag intends to do even if it kills him.

"General," he forces out through his teeth, "You need to leave."

General Koon looks confused. "Captain?"

"Wasn't a misfire," Jag gasps out, the ache in his head increasing rapidly, "Tried to kill you."

General Koon is silent for a long, terrifying moment and Jag forgets how to breathe. He hears his brothers clamoring on comm line in his helmet, telling him to stay in place, to stay between them and the General because he fought it off. He tried to kill the General, but _missed_ , and if he moves they're going to start taking shots as well.

"Why?" his General asks eventually, sounding overwhelmed and confused and Jag knows he hears the comm chatter too.

"Order 66, sir," Jag chokes, "We have…we have to…"

He can't say it. He can't breathe. It's taking everything he has just to stay in control of his body. He can't speak, but he _needs_ to and damnit why won't his body cooperate?

"We have to eliminate all Jedi traitors," Comet's voice says over the comm instead and Jag's stomach uncurls.

He can't speak but his brothers can.

"We can't control it, sir," Wolffe says, voice tense and angry, and Jag knows without a fraction of a doubt that his Commander is absolutely _furious_ about this and something is most definitely going to be blowing up in the near future, "Something inside us is making us _want_ to kill you. If Jag moves, we're all going to open fire on you without hesitation."

"Sorry, sir," Boost adds, and he sounds absolutely _miserable_ , "This voice in our heads just won't shut up."

"Where did this order come from?" General Koon demands, and Jag has never heard anger in his General's voice before, but it is definitely something to be terrified of.

"The Supreme Commander," Sinker answers quietly.

"No," their General whispers and Jag's heart clenches at the amount of horror in that single word. "It can't be…"

"Sir," Jag chokes out, because as much as he loves his General, as much as he understands the horror of what is not unfolding around him, General Koon cannot stay with them, "Leave."

"Jag's right, General," Sinker says, "You need to leave before this thing makes us do something that we are going to regret."

"Please, sir," Boost says when the General stays quiet for a moment too long.

Jag can see the conflict painted across the holo of his General's face as clearly as if he were standing in front of him.

"You deserve better," their General says at last in a mournful tone.

"What are you talking about, sir?" Boost asks in voice that's one part forced cheer and another part sincere loyalty, "We have the best."

"It's been an honor, General," Wolffe says and their brothers echo him.

General Koon looks Jag in the eye and nods his acceptance.

Jag's throat is still closing around all the words he wants to speak, but he pushes them out anyway. "Force…be with you, sir."

"And with you my friends," their General says before the comm clicks off.

General Koon's ship breaks formation and heads toward the atmosphere. Jag viciously quashes the urge to fly after him. As the distance between them increases, the ache in his head lessens, but his body is still numb.

He feels violated.

Someone has taken everything he is and torn it to shreds in a single moment.

"Fuck this shit," Wolffe says suddenly over the comm, "Let's go blow something up."

Jag snorts. He saw that one coming. "You have something in mind?" he asks.

"Yeah. Yeah I do."

And if Wolffe sounds a little too feral, a little too broken, none of them comment. After all, they all feel the same. They are Pack. And someone just tried to make them kill their Alpha. This cannot stand.

That night, all military holdings on Cato Neimoidia – Separatist and Republic alike – burn.

* * *

 **Ta-da! I'm actually pretty proud of this chapter.**

 **I know that you guys probably expected this chapter to be from Wolffe's POV, but in canon, Jag is the one who shot down Plo when 66 came down. For those of you who are unfamiliar with Jag, he was a Commander at the time of the First Battle of Geonosis, but he was demoted after his failure during the Battle of Katrassi. He joined the 104th Battalion after this when Plo asked him.**

 **Let me know what you guys think!**

 **Until next time,**

 **~Elri**


	5. Sister: Doom

**Merry Christmas everyone!**

 **Sooooo Christmas update! Yay! I meant to do this earlier but then family and holiday stuff happened so I was delayed. But better late than never!**

 **Also, GUESS WHO FINALLY SAW THE FORCE AWAKENS. THAT'S RIGHT I DID. COME TALK TO ME ABOUT YOUR FEELS SO WE CAN CRY TOGETHER.**

 **This is another chapter that focuses on characters that are little less known. For those who are unfamiliar with Commander Doom and General Tiplee, they appear in the first episode of season 6 of TCW - episode titled "The Unknown." Fair warning to any who have not watch that particular story arc that it is nothing but pain. Sweet, agonizing pain. It's the kinda thing where you already know how its going to end, but the entire time you watch it, you are praying for a different outcome. That kind of pain.**

 **Thank you to all those who reviewed!**

 **Disclaimer: Same as last time.**

* * *

Sister

Doom

* * *

Doom is alone with his General when it happens.

It's a simple mission. They're scouting ahead, though the Separatist presence on this planet isn't supposed to be that large, it's better to be safe than sorry. Especially with how things have been going for them lately.

The loss of General Tiplar had hit all of them hard, but none more so than General Tiplee.

Doom still remembers the way he and General Tiplar had moved in tandem that day, working together with flawless precision that had come from years in each others company. He remembers staying with her, guarding her back. He remembers the shock that filled him when he saw her go down, the way his stomach dropped when General Tiplee had cried out for her twin.

He remembers the way shock turned to horror when he saw his brother with the smoking blaster in his hand standing over her corpse.

He was supposed to protect his Generals and he'd failed.

But he had never thought he would ever have to protect them from a brother.

And then, only three months later, he'd almost failed again. The mission to the Mandalorian outpost. He hadn't been there, but he'd read the report.

His General had almost died.

Again.

Run through with a lightsaber. He is forever grateful to General Kenobi. He had kept General Tiplee alive long enough to be thrown into a becta tank. She had lived, but Doom still remembers the chill that had crawled up his spine and the way his stomach sank into his boots.

General Tiplee had been grounded after that mission.

This is her first since return to active duty and Doom intends to protect her with everything he is.

He will not fail again.

He can't.

 _Execute Order 66._

And then he finds out he might not have a choice.

Doom feels like he's somewhere else. Somewhere far away and he's watching everything unfold from a distance – as if it were a scene in one of those plays his General likes so much.

He doesn't understand what's happening.

He doesn't understand why he's drawing his blaster.

He doesn't understand why he's suddenly stalking his General like she's prey.

 _Good soldiers follow orders._

Doom feels like his been dunked in ice.

His breath halts in his chest and his heart is suddenly in his throat. Cold sweeps through his veins and he feels numb.

Good soldiers follow orders.

He knows those words.

He's heard them before.

Right before his brother killed one of his Generals.

Is this what happened? All those months ago?

Did this thing invade Tup's mind and carve him out and take his place?

Is this why his General is dead?

Doom screams.

 _Good soldiers follow orders._

The same words that his brother said as he pointed his blaster at General Tiplar's head. The same words he said right before he pulled the trigger.

They're echoing inside Doom's head.

They're echoing inside his head and he's pointing his blaster at his General's back.

The only General he has left.

The one he swore he would protect.

The one he _promised_.

Doom's screaming, raging, but General Tiplee doesn't notice. She keeps moving, leaving him her back because he's always guarded it. Because even though he failed her sister, she still trusts him with it.

And he's about to shoot her.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

Is this what Tup felt like?

Trapped with no way out, screaming inside his head?

Is this what it's like for all of them?

Order 66 is boiling inside him, pounding away at his mind, demanding the death of the Jedi. Of all the Jedi. Of his General. He hears the thing inside his head talk about contingencies, about plans he never knew existed until this moment.

Someone has taken his body and turned into a weapon, ready and waiting.

Someone has done this with all of his brothers.

And Doom can feel them pulling the trigger.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

He's not in control of his body anymore. His arms move by themselves, blaster already in his hands, to aim at his General's back. He tries to pull back, to move his arms, to drop his blaster, to do _something_ , but nothing happens.

It doesn't matter that he doesn't want to shoot his General.

It doesn't matter that he'd already failed once and swore that he would never fail again.

It doesn't matter that he promised his dead General that he would do everything in his power to keep her sister alive.

It doesn't matter that Doom would bleed for General Tiplee.

That he would live for her, die for her, kill for her.

It doesn't matter that they both still grieve for the same women every second of every day.

It doesn't matter that Doom knows how much this war is costing his General, how much he wishes he could spare her that pain.

It doesn't matter that he loves her.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

It just doesn't matter.

Doom tries anything, _anything_ , to give his General some kind of warning. To allow her to defend herself, to disarm him first, to _kill_ him first.

Her back is still facing him.

He pulls the trigger.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

Doom is howling as the shot connects.

Left shoulder blade – inches away from her spine.

His General stumbles forward as she takes the hit before she whirls, her blue lightsaber snapping to life with a familiar hiss, and then she freezes. Her blue eyes go wide and Doom can see the emotions play across her face. Confusion, betrayal, _anger_. Doom wants to reassure his General, to tell her that he would never betray her, but that's not entirely true anymore, is it? Because he might be protesting, but his body is getting ready to take another shot.

General Tiplee lunges at him, her saber slicing through his blaster with ease.

Doom's relief quickly melts into frustration as his body slams into hers, sending them both tumbling down the incline. He's only peripherally aware of the rocks that slam into his armor, entirely focused on giving his General any opening he can.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

They hit the ground hard and Doom feels the breath leave his General's lungs.

Her lightsaber has fallen just out of reach and he prays that she will think to reach for it rather than grapple with him. That she will use it to end him instead of prolonging this horror any longer and risk giving him an opening.

She never gets the chance.

His hands close around her throat and he can _feel_ them squeeze.

General Tiplee gasps beneath him, clawing at his hands, his wrists, his arms, trying to rip them off her.

Doom has never before taken into consideration how much smaller than him his General is. She is thinner than him, her throat could easily fit into one of his hands and he's using both of them to force the air from her body. She's trapped beneath his bulk in a way that makes revulsion claw at his stomach and fear grip his heart.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

His General's movements are slowing.

Her eyes are glassy and unfocused.

He's just noticed the gash across her right temple, dark blue blood painting her crimson skin. It must have happened in the fall. He hadn't noticed. Hadn't noticed it at all. Head wounds always bleed a lot. Her blood is dripping down her face, flowing through the tendrils on her head, a pool steadily growing beneath them. His gloves feel sticky and that's when Doom realizes that her blood has seeped into the fabric.

He has his General's blood on his hands.

Literally.

For a moment every things stills.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

Then he _rages_.

Doom claws his ways back into his body, uncaring of the pain in his head, the screaming in his ears, the voice repeating those awful words over and over and over again.

His arms are stiff and ridged with the force he's exerting on them and he _wills_ his fingers to move. Off his General, away from his General, his hands will never again _touch_ his General. Not after this. Not after this betrayal, after this abomination.

His General sputters a cough beneath him before a hand is shoved against his chest and then he's flying back.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOL –_

His back slams into the rock face.

Hard.

He feels something snaps and then everything becomes muted.

The voice in his head quiets, shouting becomes a whisper. He can't move and in any other circumstances he might have been fighting off panic but right now all he feels is relief. If he can't move, then he can't hurt his General. If he can't move, then he can't kill his General.

He hears his General hacking, air rushing back into her lungs, and he has to close his eyes to stop himself from weeping.

Force, this is such a mess.

A familiar snapping hiss and heat against his cheek has him opening his eyes again. His General is standing over him, eyes hard and colder than he's ever seen. Her face is covered in blood, the wound on her head still weeping, her tunics stained. Her left arm is cradled close to her body and Doom remembers dimly that his first shot had connected.

"Commander," General Tiplee says, voice rough, in her cool collected way that tells Doom exactly what level of angry she's at, "What the hell was that?"

The last time his General was this angry, she was facing down her sister's killer.

So he gives her the only answer he can.

"Good soldiers follow orders, sir."

She recoils sharply, her crimson skin paling into a dusky pink. She recognizes the words, he knows. Heard them the same place he did, knows exactly what happened the last time those words left a clone's lips.

Her lightsaber flicks off after a long moment of them just staring at each other and she slowly goes to her knees beside him.

"Doom," she says softly, and he hates the tremor he hears there, "What's going on?"

He feels a token protest from the thing in his head, but it's easier to brush off now. Maybe it knows that he can't carry out the order now – even if he had wanted to. Good soldiers have to be able to move after all.

"Order 66," he answers her, voice just as soft, "Apparently, us clones come preprogrammed with contingency plans," he says with a bitter smile.

He sees the realization in her eyes, the puzzle pieces falling into place. Mysteries on Ringo Vinda that had never been solved, the words of a brother that had never been explained.

"The death of the Jedi," she whispers, looking at him in horror before gasping sharply, eyes going distant. Silvery tears start running down her cheeks and Doom is breaking. He's only seen his General this way once and he'd swore to protect her from feeling this kind of pain ever again.

He's failed.

Not only that, but he's the source of her pain.

He's not sure what's worse.

* * *

 **Okay, guys. This is part 1. Part 2 of this arc should be up during our regularly scheduled Sunday update if everything goes according to plan.**

 **Until next time,**

 **~Elri**


	6. Sister: Tiplee

**Hello everyone!**

 **Here is the second part to the Sister arc. Beware, the feels get worse. I feel like at this point you guys should just keep a box of tissues on hand.**

 **Disclaimer: Still the same. Nothing has changed in the last two days.**

* * *

Sister

Tiplee

* * *

It happens so fast. Too fast.

Tiplee has no time to comprehend what's happening.

It started so simply. An easy mission, short and simple, to get her used to field work again. But then the sharp pain in her back came and she turned, ready to face the enemy. Only to face her Commander, blaster raised. By the time she's reacted, Doom is already moving.

Their bodies are tangled together as they go tumbling to the ground. Rock and armor slam into her and she knows that she will be a bruised mess when she gets out of this.

If she gets out of this.

Doom has turned on her.

It's like something out of her nightmares.

The doubts that she's had since Ringo Vinda surface and questions that were never answered circle in her mind over and over again.

There's a sharp pain in her head and aches up and down her body. Her back slams into the hard ground and the air flees her lungs.

And then Doom's hands are around her throat.

It's instinct to fight back. She claws at his arms, bucks her hips underneath him to try and throw him off. But he's bigger than her; a warrior that's all heavy armor and hard muscle. He doesn't even budge.

She pushes and pulls and struggles but she can't _breathe_ and her world is closing in around her. And Doom. Doom is towering over her, choking her. Tiplee can't see his face. All she sees is the cold, indifferent mask of the helmet he wears. She can't tell what he's thinking. All she feels is…quiet. There is nothing. Where Doom is there is nothing but a void. And it terrifies her.

Suddenly, the pressure on her throat lessens and she can almost breathe again.

It's enough.

She shoves a hand against her commander's chest and pushes him back as hard as she can. She's dimly aware of him colliding with the rock face, of the sickening crack that echoes when he does. But she's too busy sucking as much air into her lungs as she can to really register anything else.

Her throat feels swollen and scarped raw. Her body shudders with the force of her hacking. Moving hurts and she feels the phantom pain of a lightsaber ripping through her body as her body heaves. This is her first mission since the disaster that was the Mandalorian supply outpost. She had expected quiet recon.

Instead, it's Ringo Vinda all over again.

She grabs her lightsaber and forces herself to her feet. Her head is pounding and the world spins as stands but she manages it. Her vision is hazy but she can see enough to tell that Doom has not moved from where he's landed.

The sight of him sends a rage through her that she hasn't felt in months.

Not since she held her sister's cooling body in her arms.

Since she faced her sister's killer.

How dare he.

 _How dare he_.

She _trusted_ him.

Trusted him even though part of her kept screaming at her to stay as far away from the clones as possible. She'd put it up to paranoia. They were all feeling the effects of the war, of the constant fighting. It was draining, exhausting. Tiplee feels worn down.

She had thought that she was over thinking things, was letting her fear get the better of her.

Her lightsaber, snaps to life in her hand as she holds it out against his cheek. The movement pulls at her back, but she ignores it because everything hurts and she can't let that stop her. Not right now.

Doom doesn't move away even though Tiplee knows that he can feel the heat of her blade through his helmet.

"Commander," she says, ignoring the rawness of her throat, not bothering to hide her fury, "What the hell was that?"

Doom's head shifts ever so slightly and she can feel his eyes on her. "Good soldiers follow orders, sir."

The words are said softly, quietly. But Tiplee reels back as if she's just been struck by Force lightning. Those words echo in the sudden silence around them.

Those words.

Those awful, horrible words.

Words she's heard repeated over and over again in her dreams as her sister breathes her last.

Words she's heard as she looks into cold eyes that lack recognition of any kind, as familiar men lunge for her demanding her death.

Her saber flicks of and she sinks to her knees by her Commander. "Doom," she says, unable to completely smother the terror in her voice, "What's going on?"

"Order 66," he answers her, voice just as soft, "Apparently, us clones come preprogrammed with contingency plans."

His voice is bitter and snide and angry and Tiplee can feel the self-deprecation radiating off the man in waves.

Preprogrammed, he'd said.

Order 66, he'd said.

Tiplee feels numb.

This was a _plan_. A long standing plan. One that has been in place since the creation of the clone army.

This is what happened on Ringo Vinda. This why they never got an explanation for what happened. The Jedi could never know if this plan was to work.

 _Tiplar_ , her mind screams.

 _Sister_ , her heart wails.

"The death of the Jedi," she says through nerveless lips.

It hits her like a tidal wave – sudden and all at once.

Death.

Death everywhere, all at once, in a single moment. It echoes across the galaxy, stealing the breath from her lungs all over again.

Her heart is in her throat.

Jedi.

The Force is screaming around her, thousands upon thousands of lights gone leaving nothing but an empty void in their place.

"General."

She blinks, uncomprehending.

"General," Doom calls again.

She stares at him in horrified silence.

"Sir," he says and she can feel the pain in his voice, "You need to leave. This thing – it's inside all of us. We won't hesitate to cut you down. You have to cut us down first. You have to kill us before we kill you."

Tiplee has no words to explain the sudden anger singing in her blood.

She shoots up to her feet, knees locking when the world tips dangerously.

"Absolutely not," she hisses.

"Sir –"

Doom sounds startled and maybe a little bit panicked. Tiplee doesn't care.

"We're getting answers, Commander," she announces, cutting off whatever protest he might make.

Doom sighs. He sounds tired and exhausted and so, so much older than his twelve years should allow. "Sir, you can't take me with you. For one thing, I can't move. At all. For another, this voice in my head still really wants to kill you."

Tiplee frowns, remembering the distant crack she'd heard, taking in her Commander's sprawled form against the rocks. The way he hasn't moved in the slightest. She hooks her lightsaber to her belt and then carefully, oh so carefully, reaches out with the Force.

She wraps it around Doom, uses it to keep him immobile as she lifts him off the ground. He makes a startled sound.

"I don't care," she says shortly.

"But General –"

"Tiplar wouldn't want me to leave you behind."

Doom falls silent at that and Tiplee knows she's won.

Tiplar would never forgive her if she left Doom here alone and unable to move. Left him here in this strange, convoluted hell that seems to be growing around them.

If her sister were here, she would call them both idiots, throw each of them over her shoulders, carry them out of here, and then figure out what the hell is going on.

Tiplar is gone.

She can't solve this mystery.

So Tiplee will just have to do it for her.

It feels right.

And Doom is going to stay with her. He has always been more Tiplar's than hers. Always looking to her first, always diving head first into trouble with her, always standing at her back. She sees so much of her twin in him that it aches.

And she'll be damned if she lets him die.

He's all she has left.

And she's going to keep him safe or die trying, Order 66 or no.

She drags him back to their shuttle – a small freighter made for at most seven people. It isn't much, but it's enough for now. Doom is silent as she lays him out on a table, flicking on the medical droid with a wave of her hand. She carefully takes off his helmet and he stares at her. She meets his eyes unflinchingly.

She will not bend.

Not on this.

Never on this.

Doom seems to see this on her face because his lips twitch up ever so slightly into a smile. His eyes are sad and angry and there is so, so much pain in his face that Tiplee half expects him to break down right there.

"Alright," he says softly.

She backs off, letting the droid do its work, and heads toward the cockpit. Then sooner they get out of here, the better. She has to take the long way, circling the planet to avoid the fleet. She's moving on autopilot.

When her mind catches up with her body, she falls.

She can't hold herself up anymore.

Her body is trembling uncontrollably, her head is spinning and she can't see straight at all. She feels like she's floating.

Dimly, she realizes that she's sticky.

Shaking fingers touch her cheek and come away blue.

Oh.

She bleeding.

A lot.

She's also pretty sure that she's crying.

She hurts.

Doom is broken.

Jedi are dying.

The Force is screaming at her.

Tiplar is gone.

Safe.

They need to be kept safe.

Doom is still alive. Broken but alive. She has to protect him, has to keep him safe. For her sister. For herself.

She has to keep him alive.

She pulls herself up to the controls. A safe place. They need a safe place. Away from the war and the fighting and the deathdeathdying that follows them everywhere they go these days. She enters the coordinates, forces her fingers steady as she activates the hyperdrive.

Then she falls back as the world goes gray around her.

A safe place.

The Jedi are dying.

The Force is screaming.

Her sister is gone.

Her Commander is broken.

But alive.

 _Please. Please let me save him_.

She hurts. She doesn't have the energy to move anymore. She can't see. She reaches for the Force. It cradles her, soothing, mourning. She feels a hand on her brow.

 _Rest, sister._

She sleeps.

* * *

 **End of arc. Urgh. These two. They are going to be such angst muffins. But that's for later.**

 **Until next time,**

 **~Elri**


	7. Run: Depa

**Hello everyone!  
**

 **Here we are at the start of a new story arc! And this one is gonna suck. A lot. Just so you know. So have tissues ready.**

 **Disclaimer: Can we just all agree that Star Wars does not belong to me but this story does? Good? Good.**

* * *

Run

Depa

* * *

It happens on Kaller.

It's a simple mission. Not an easy mission, no. This is war and nothing about it is easy. But some things are simpler than others. Depa sighs as she remembers her Padawan's reaction to that. The natives don't see them any differently than they see the Separatists.

She is not surprised.

War is not kind and those who are outside of the conflict are the victims of violence that they did nothing to invite.

Caleb doesn't quite understand.

Part of Depa hopes that he never will.

But it's a naïve hope. She knows it is. Her Padawan will not come out of this war unscathed no matter how much she might wish him to.

There are moments though were she can – well, not forget, but think about something else. Moments where there is no fighting, no battlefields filled with fire and blood and death. Quiet moments. Happy moments. Moments filled with laughter that has become far too rare in this day and age.

She hides a smile as Styles reaches out and ruffles Caleb's hair, a teasing smile on his lips. Caleb squawks in protest and bats his hands away.

Yes, these moments are becoming increasingly rare.

But that just makes them infinitely more precious.

Grey steps away, his comm chirping at him and she waves him off.

Caleb is pouting at her as if he expects her to jump in and save him. She just smirks and raises an eyebrow. Her Padawan's pout deepens.

She opens her mouth to say something – she doesn't even know what – when it hits her.

The wave slams into her, stealing the breath from her body. Death. Death everywhere. There's so _many_. Three years of war across the galaxy and Depa has never in her life felt anything like this. The Force screams warning at her. She sees flashes – Jedi falling, _dying_.

And their troops are the ones shooting them.

She surges to her feet, lightsaber in hand before she even realizes it. Her hand snatches Caleb and drags him behind her just as her men turn on them.

She shouts at them. Demands, pleads, asks what going on, what's happening, _why are you doing this?_

Her only response is a cold, flat, "Good soldiers follow orders."

It's _wrong_.

Something is not right. These are her men. _Hers_. She knows them.

But they are shooting at her.

Shooting at her Padawan.

Caleb.

Her Padawan.

Her responsibility.

Her child.

She has to protect him. She keeps herself between her troops and her child even as she drags him along. Even as he tries to step up beside her. She pushes him towards the trees, away from them, away from danger.

She can see the conflict on his face, the hesitation in his eyes. He wants to stay with her, wants to help her. She knows he does. His love for her at war with his duty to listen to her orders.

Force, he's such a sweet, bright child. Her blessing. Her gift. She wishes she had more time with him.

She opens her mouth and the first lie she has ever told him spills out.

"Go! I'll be right behind you!"

Caleb runs.

Her heart _aches_. She shoves it aside as she stares her troops down. She deflects shot after shot, loses track how many of her men she's injured, how many she's killed.

She needs to keep Caleb safe.

They will not touch him.

She sees Styles aim at something past her. She turns. Her heart stops.

 _Caleb_.

"Styles, _NO_!" she shouts, reaching out and shoving his blaster aside with the Force.

Then everything is pain.

A shot connects, searing into her flesh. Her scream is lodged in her throat as she falls. It _hurts_. Her lightsaber slips from her fingers as she goes down, the world closing in around her. Distantly, she feels the pain, hears the blasters fire, her troopers shouting.

Funny.

She doesn't remember dying hurting this much.

Then again, the last time this happened, she had not been fighting someone she trusted.

This…this is worse than last time.

She's dying. She can feel it.

Her men are killing her.

Her men are killing her and there's nothing she can do about it.

Her men are killing her and there will be no one left to protect her Padawan.

 _Caleb, RUN!_

* * *

 **Yeeeeeeeeah. So that happened. I know this one is a bit on the short side, but on the plus side, this arc has two more chapters!  
**

 **(Which are also going to hurt you, but that's beside the point. Everything in this fic hurts you. You guys should know this by now.)**

 **Until next time,**

 **~Elri**


	8. Run: Caleb

**Hello everyone!**

 **Here is the next part of Run. This chapter is Caleb's. So read at your own risk.**

 **Thank you to everyone who took the time to review!**

* * *

Run

Caleb

* * *

They killed her.

Oh _Force_ , they _killed her_.

He's running.

He hasn't stopped running since he saw her fall and heard her shout in his head. His lightsaber is clutched so tightly, he can feel the metal digging into his palm. He barely feels it.

They killed her.

He trips and goes tumbling to the ground. His clothes are torn, he's covered in dirt and bruises, there are leaves and twigs caught in his hair. He lays there, dazed, eyes staring out into nothing. The Force is wild and raging, like a storm. It's screaming and crying and he can hear his Master's last order echoing through it.

 _Caleb, RUN!_

He curls in on himself, throat tight and eyes burning. There's a knot in his chest that seems to grow larger with every second that passes. He presses both hands to his mouth, nearly smacking himself in the face with his lightsaber hilt in his haste, to smother the sounds that are trying to rip free.

He has to be quiet.

He has to be quiet or they'll find him.

 _Control_ , he thinks, _Don't let your emotions rule you_.

He lies there, fighting to get himself under control.

They killed her.

He needs to get out of here. He can't stay. They'll find him.

They killed her.

They'll kill him.

He forces himself to his feet, hooking his lightsaber to his belt.

He runs.

He doesn't stop.

* * *

He curls up in the fighter's pilot seat, chest heaving as he sucks in breath after breath.

Hyperspace is quiet.

The Force isn't.

It echoes inside his head – a high, keening sound. A sound of loss. A sound of mourning.

What is going on?

He reaches into his tunics, pulling out his comm. He felt the chaos in the Force. He knows what happened. But. He switches he comm onto the Jedi frequency. Maybe, maybe there's someone out there. Maybe he's not alone.

The comm flairs to life in his palm, a familiar figure appearing.

"This is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi," the holo says, "I regret to report that both our Jedi Order and the Republic have fallen."

Caleb sucks in a sharp breath, eyes going wide in disbelief.

"With the shadow of the Empire rising to take their place," Master Kenobi continues, "This message is a warning and a reminder to all surviving jedi: Do _not_ return to the Temple. That time has passed and out future and uncertain. _Avoid Coruscant._ Avoid detection. Be _secret,_ but be _strong_. We will each be challenged: our trust, our faith, our friendships. But we must persevere, and in time I believe a new hope will emerge."

Caleb brings a trembling hand up to cover his mouth.

"May the Force be with you always," Master Kenobi says.

His comm blinks out and Master Kenobi's holo disappears.

Gone.

It's all gone.

The Republic, the _Jedi_. All of it.

He's alone.

He curls in on himself, pulling his knees up to his chest and burying his face in them. He grits his teeth against the scream that's fighting to escape.

What does he do?

 _What does he do?_

He's alone, hunted, with no hope of outside help. Every place he could think to go is immediately dismissed. He can't go to any of those places. They're Republic. They're Jedi. They'll expect him to go there. He needs to go somewhere else. But _where_?

He can't get caught. He can't.

He has to stay alive.

They killed her.

She was protecting him and they killed her.

He has to stay alive.

He reaches for the Force, trembling and fearful.

 _Where?_ He asks.

Silence.

He growls to himself, frustrated, as tears start streaming down his cheeks.

 _Control_ , he thinks, _I have to stay in control_.

The Force reaches back. _Grieve_ , it says.

The dam breaks.

He weeps. He screams, he sobs. He pulls at his hair and pounds at his legs and digs his nails into his palms. He _hurts_ , like a part of him has been violently ripped away. He wants it to stop. He wants it all to stop.

It doesn't.

He shatters.

He's alone, flying through space in a stolen fighter, screaming his grief at the stars.

And all he can think is

 _They killed her._

* * *

 **I warned you last chapter that this would hurt you. You guys should know this by now. It's only going to get worse.**

 **Until next time,**

 **~Elri**


	9. Run: Grey

**Hello all!**

 **We have finally reached Grey's chapter. For those of you who follow the comics, here is where we get to the new information.**

 **As always, thank you to everyone who took the time to review!**

* * *

Run

Grey

* * *

It starts simply.

They're joking, laughing. Styles is teasing their little Commander. He's all heart and bite and gives right back. It's a rare peaceful moment, ones he's learned to savor. Grey shakes his head with a laugh, standing as his comm beeps at him. His General's eyes are alight with laughter as she waves him off.

If there's one thing he's grateful to the kid for, it's his ability to make General Billaba smile again.

He hopes it's a talent the kid can keep.

He flips on his comm.

 _Execute Order 66._

Grey is a soldier. War is what he was trained for. And after facing it's horrors for the past few years, he can effectively say that it takes _a lot_ to scare him.

He has never been more terrified in his entire life.

 _Good soldiers follow orders._

Knowledge busts to life in his mind, sudden and all consuming.

His body starts moving on its own.

He's going to kill his General.

 _Good soldiers follow orders._

His General who nearly died to keep him and his brothers alive. His General who live but fell into a coma anyway.

His heart is in his throat. Not just his General. His Commander too. This _kid_ – for all that he insists he's not – who laughs with them and fights with them and constantly asks them questions.

Looking around at his brothers, he sees the way they all reach for their blasters. The way they all turn toward their Jedi. It's not just him. It's _all_ of them.

Force, they're going to kill both of them.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

He wanted to shout at them. To tell his brothers to put down their weapons, to warn his Jedi.

He doesn't know what happens, but General Billaba is suddenly on her feet between them and Commander Dume, lightsaber flaring to life in her hand a mere moment before they open fire on them.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

His General is shouting at them. Demanding, pleading, to know what is going on, but the only words that come out of his mouth are an echo of the ones ringing in his head.

It hurts.

The expression of betrayal on his General's face is like a shot to the chest. The confused terror that Commander Dume seems unable to contain, even as he tries to help General Billaba only for her to drag him away. The fierce determination in his General's eyes as she keeps herself between them and her Padawan.

It hurts.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

She should never have to protect herself from them.

They should never have turned on her. And they _haven't_ , but here they all are, trying their best to gun her down.

General Billaba shoves Commander Dume in the direction of the trees, ordering him to run. He sees his Commander's hesitation, hears the words that fall from his General lips. The promise she gives too make him finally flee.

Grey feels his stomach sink.

He knows his General. He's her Commander. He's from her old battalion. He's one of the troopers she nearly died defending. He knows her.

She's lying.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

General Billaba is good.

But he knows she isn't good enough. Not to fight all of them. She can't.

The break comes when Styles takes aim at something other than the General. Grey doesn't have to look to know who he's aiming at.

 _Caleb_.

His General turns, flinging her arm out, fingers splayed, and he knows the shot will miss.

But he feels no relief.

Because as her back is turned, he takes a shot himself.

And it connects.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

General Billaba goes down hard, lightsaber falling from her grasp.

But he and his men keep shooting.

He wants to scream at them, turn his blaster on himself and his brothers, anything to make this insanity stop. He grapples with the thing in his mind. This is _his_ body damnit, and his is _not_ killing his Jedi.

Control snaps back so suddenly that his body jerks, blaster falling from suddenly nerveless fingers. The voice in his head yells louder, demanding control, ordering him to obey, clawing at him, trying to draw him back in.

He digs in his heels and screams his defiance.

Without thought, he throws himself over his General's still form.

The shooting stops.

For a long, still moment, there is nothing but silence. Then, one by one, the sound of blasters hitting the ground. Then a tentative voice.

"G-Grey? Is…is she…?"

Soot.

Grey forces himself up and looks at his General, finally registering her condition. She's still. So very, very still. With trembling fingers, he searches for a pulse.

One beat.

Then two.

"Not yet," he says, "Styles, help me. Soot, gather the troops. We're getting out of here."

"What about Commander Dume?" Big-Mouth asks, subdued.

Grey pauses. Thinks of the youngling who brought a smile to his General's face in the middle of this Force forsaken war and feels the thing in his head surge to life with a vengeance.

"We can't," he says, voice cracking, "We can't go near him. Not like this. Leave him be; he's a resourceful kid. He'll figure something out."

His throat feels tight and his chest aches. His General is dying. His Commander saw them shoot her.

 _Force_.

This is such a kirffing mess.

With Styles' help, he maneuvers General Billaba onto her back. He pulls the remains of her cloak tightly around her, tucking her arms into her sleeves and pulling the hood up over her head so that it hides her face from view.

He grabs her lightsaber, hooking it to his belt, before carefully scooping his General up into his arms. Styles helps him keep her steady as he rises and between the two of them, they get her to the gunship.

Grey curls his body around hers, one hand wrapped around her wrist, fingers at her pulse point.

One beat.

Then two.

He stays like that the entire flight.

* * *

"Good work."

Those are the first two words Grey hears after finishing his report.

He has never wanted to shoot someone so much in his _life_.

There are two problems with this.

One, the man he's reporting to is a holo projection.

Two, the smug bastard is an Admiral.

And he doesn't seem to give a damn that everything's just gone to hell.

Grey spends the rest of the debrief with his fists clenched tight as he gives the shortest answers possible through clenched teeth. When it's done, he storms off the bridge and stomps down to medical. The halls outside it are crowded in a way that is completely against regulation, but Grey couldn't care less. His brothers look anxious, horrified, exhausted. None of them understand what's happened. Some of them think that what's happened is good. They are knocked out and shoved in the brig. The rest of them have pounding, almost crippling, headaches and all of them are complaining of a voice screaming inside their heads.

Medical is grimly silent.

Only the sounds of the machines at work can be heard. His brothers couldn't bear to be here after what happened. And only two steps in the door, he's about ready to turn around and walk out.

But he's the Commander. Without their Jedi, he's the highest ranking officer here. His brothers are looking to him for answers he doesn't have.

General Billaba is still unconscious, now floating in becta.

Her wounds have been treated and she still lives. But she's in a coma.

Again.

Only this time, she wasn't dying for them.

She was dying _because_ of them.

Grey feels something surge up in his mind and then the sensation from Kaller is back, hitting him full force and knocking the air from his lungs. He drags his eyes away from his General, wrenching his body away, turning and slamming his fists down on a nearby biobed just as the screaming starts.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

Underneath it, he hears the quiet, compelling, _kill her, kill her, kill her, killherkillthemall._

 _She's already BRAIN DEAD_ , he shouts back, _WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!_

It doesn't stop.

With a snarl, he grabs the biobed and hurls it away from him. It slams into the wall with a crash. His breathing is harsh and his muscles are wound tight. He turned back to the becta tank, but doesn't look at its occupant. Doesn't let himself see, keeps his eyes shut. If he can't see her, maybe it won't know.

He falls to his knees, pressing his forehead to the cool glass of the tank.

 _General_ , he thinks, _General, I'm sorry. General, I'm so sorry. General. General, General, General, what do I do? I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. How do I make it stop? Tell me please. How do I fix this?_

There's no answer.

Grey isn't sure how long he's been sitting there when a hand lands on his shoulder. It could have been seconds or years. He wouldn't know. Turning, he looks up to see Styles' concerned face, Big-Mouth and Soot hovering behind him.

He can see the same question on all of their faces.

The same one that he has no real answer to.

 _What do we do?_

He pushes himself to his feet, closes his eyes for a moment and starts breathing in the pattern General Billaba showed him ages ago before everything started going to shit. Surprisingly, it makes the voice in his head quiet more quickly than anything else he's tried.

"You alright, Grey?" Soot asks softly, "We heard the crash."

Grey releases a breath slowly, opening his eyes. He's not okay. Not even close. But he can think now.

"Fine," he says shortly, "Don't look at the General."

He gets three grim nods at that.

The four of them stand in silence for a long moment. It's almost a tangible thing, thick and heavy. Their General's presence is a weight on their shoulders they all acknowledge even as they pointedly ignore her. It's always the four of them. The last ones of General Billaba's first battalion.

Their brothers outside love their General, would bleed and fight and _die_ for her. They are shaken and terrified by what's happened and all of them are looking to Grey, to Styles, to Soot, to Big-Mouth for answers, for guidance, for _help_.

The four of them are their General's limbs and hold her up when she cannot do it herself.

"Alright," Grey says at last, "Styles you're with me. We're getting the General out of here, have the droids start the evac."

Styles nods and leaves without a word.

"You sure about this?" Big-Mouth asks quietly.

Grey gives him a thin smile. "Absolutely not," he says, "But she can't stay here and I'm not leaving her alone, not when she's like this."

Big-Mouth's lips press into a displeased line and Soot shifts on his feet, brow furrowing. "What do you want us to do?"

"Exactly what you're told," Grey says immediately, "Hold the fort. Lay low, follow orders, don't draw attention to yourselves. We'll get in contact with you when we can. When…when the General wakes up, we can talk about our next move."

Big-Mouth and Soot exchange a look, Grey easily catching the question that neither one of them wants to ask but should be said.

"If," he starts slowly, quietly, grimly, voice full of dark promise, " _If_ she doesn't wake up, we will find those responsible for this and _we will make them burn_. Understood?"

His brothers snap to attention. "Sir."

He nods in acknowledgement as Styles enters with two medical droids.

"Let's get to work."

* * *

The ship is quiet.

Grey is in no mood to talk and Styles has barely said a word since Kaller.

The medical droids had loaded up the becta tank into one of their smaller transports and the four of them had taken off as soon as they could. Soot fabricated a report about their deaths in an attack by remnant Separatist forces while Big-Mouth had started drilling their younger brothers in the meditation exercises that General Billaba had taught them.

The enemy can get into their heads, is already in their heads.

No one can know.

General Billaba is alive.

No one can know.

The medical droids with them are the only ones that escaped the mind wipes for all droids with their battalion.

No one can know.

They have to protect her.

They have to keep her safe.

Grey sits in the lotus position his General favors on the ground by the becta tank, his back pressed against the glass. His hands rest on his knees, palm up, loose and relaxed.

He breathes.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

One beat.

Then two.

 _What do we do?_

He feels a tug at his mind, soft and gentle and _familiar_ compared to the strangle hold he's quickly becoming used to.

 _Run_ , his General whispers, _Survive._

* * *

 **End arc. Moving onto the next arc next chapter!**

 **Until next time,**

 **~Elri**


	10. Fall: Gree

**Hello all!**

 **I apologize for the lack of update last week - I was in the middle of a blizzard and it made my internet connection suuuuuuper sketchy. But, here's the star of the new arc. Hopefully it'll make up for the delay!**

 **Thanks to everyone who took the time to review!**

* * *

Fall

Gree

* * *

Gree is on Kashyyyk when it happens.

Kashyyyk is far from the worst planet he has ever been on.

Until it isn't.

Over the course of this war, Gree has seen a lot of things, been a lot of places. If it weren't for the fact that the Sepis were here and turning the place into a warzone, Kashyyyk would actually be pretty nice. If jungles were your thing anyway. Some of his brothers hated jungles, but Gree found that he rather liked them.

It was probably a side effect of spending so much time in General Unduli's company.

His General was often the calm in the storm and that was something they needed in this war. A planet like Kashyyyk would be something his General would enjoy visiting under any other circumstances, Gree is sure.

However, the war is here and it is their duty to the Republic to protect Kashyyyk.

Though to be honest, Gree thinks that this planet already has some pretty loyal defenders. The Wookies are warriors worthy of honor and respect from him and all his brothers.

Still, the Jedi have close ties with them and the Republic considers Kashyyyk important, so here they are. Gree rather thinks that the only thing they will be doing is speeding up the process of removing the droid army that thought it would be a brilliant idea to invade the Wookie homeworld. Which, he supposes, is a good enough reason.

It's strange not being by General Unduli's side, but General Yoda has no battalion assigned under him. The diminutive green Jedi Master works with several different units, none of them his own. Gree has never worked with him before, but he's spoken with brothers who have.

All of them have spoken of Yoda's strangeness – his backwards speech and his riddles. But they have also spoken of his lessons and his teachings. Yoda does not treat them like soldiers or even as clones, but rather as students. He respects their abilities but always tries to expand their horizons.

Gree would be lying if he said he isn't nervous about working with him.

General Unduli had just smiled and waved him off. "Don't worry so much, Commander," she'd said, "Master Yoda always takes care of the younglings under his charge."

Gree had frowned. "I'm not a youngling, sir."

His General had smirked at him. "Master Yoda is over eight hundred years old, Gree. We're all younglings to him."

And now, here he is overseeing the command center. General Yoda is monitoring the battle, while he and Scout kept an eye out for enemies. It's odd for him – and more than a little nerve wracking – to be so far away from the action. He prefers to be in the thick of it with his men. But they all have their parts to play and he knows that General Unduli will take care of his brothers.

He can hear the sounds of battle echoing through the trees around him – explosions, blaster fire. It's like an itch he can't quite scratch. He's a soldier. He was made for action, not stillness.

He wonders if General Yoda feels the same. A glance in the Jedi Master's direction lets Gree see the tension lining the small General's body. Gree wonders if it's because he's not down there with his men or if it's the carnage.

One thing this war has taught him is that death and violence make Jedi funny. General Unduli had once told him that as Jedi, they could feel the exact moment someone's life ended – the moment they became one with the Force, she'd said.

Gree wonders what that must feel like in a situation like this. In a situation where death is everywhere. In all honesty, part of him hopes he never finds out.

Scout is standing just behind the General's shoulder, overseeing the battle, looking for patterns and opportunities. He's a good soldier and a better brother with a gift for spotting things most people overlook. If this battle goes well, Gree's planning to talk to General Unduli about offering him a promotion.

His comm goes off, pulling him from his thoughts. He holds out his palm and the small blue holo pops up and –

 _Execute Order 66._

And Gree is suddenly misplaced.

"It will be done, my lord," falls from his lips without delay and Gree – Gree doesn't understand.

Two seconds ago, there was no Order 66. And now, a few words and knowledge of contingency plans are springing forth in his brain as if he'd memorized them ages ago. Contingencies against the Republic. Against the _Jedi_.

The very same Jedi that they were made for.

 _Good soldiers follow orders._

Gree turns and starts walking back into the command station. Except it's not really him at all. It's someone else inside his skin with his voice and his skills. While he's been shoved aside into a dark corner where he can do nothing but watch.

He doesn't understand.

Why isn't his body listening to him?

Why can't he stop?

 _Good soldiers follow orders._

He tries to stop, to drag his feet, to do _something_ , but it doesn't work. His pace never falters, his stride never changes.

He struggles against his cage, his prison. He screams and hits and begs. But nothing happens.

Why?

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

What's happened to him?

Was this…was this some pre-programed code?

If it was, what did that make him? If he could be controlled so easily, how did that make him any different than the clankers he fought?

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS_.

He was not a droid.

He was not a number.

He was Gree, Commander of the 41st Elite Corps, second to General Unduli.

And he might not be in control of his body anymore, but his mind was still his.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

Gree has only ever done this a few times and only ever with General Unduli. Only as a last resort when things were desperate.

Well. He can't think of anything more desperate than a pre-programed contingency order that called for the murder of the Jedi Order by their loyal troops.

He sinks into himself, tries to find the right threads. He reaches for them and then _projects_ –

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

 _General!_ He screams, as loud and as far as he can.

General Yoda has to hear him. He has too.

His blaster is heavy in his hands as he comes to a stop next to Scout. His brother looks at him and tips his head in acknowledgement and Gree wants to _scream_. Not him too. Not his brothers. He pushes out harder.

 _General! You have to stop us! You have to get out! Order 66 has been –_

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

– _issued! General!_

Gree feels his arms move, sees his brother aim his blaster at the General's back.

 _General! We're going to kill you! Stop us, sir, STOP US!_

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

Just as his finger finds the trigger, the General _moves_.

Gree hears the hiss of a lightsaber, sees a flash of green light, and then his arms feel like they're on fire. It _burns_ and he sees a flash of light followed but Scout's scream of pain. His own scream is lodged in his throat.

He doesn't care.

All he feels is relief because General Yoda isn't dead, they didn't kill him, they failed –

And then Gree is flying backwards.

His back collides with something hard.

And then everything he knows goes dark.

* * *

 **This little arc is going to be two parts. Yoda's turn is next.**

 **Until next time,**

 **~Elri**


	11. Fall: Yoda

**Hello all! Here is the next part of Fall.  
**

 **Yoda is actually much harder to write than I thought he would be.**

 **Thanks to everyone who reviewed!**

* * *

Fall

Yoda

* * *

It hits Yoda all at once, like a lightsaber to the chest.

It's startling, sudden, and completely unexpected. Never, in all his centuries of life, has he ever encountered such a swift, agonizing up swell of death. The Force is all but screaming at him, so great is the pain. His heart stutters and a chill laces up his spine.

His gimmer stick clatters to the floor, his grip on it loosened in his shock.

Jedi, he realizes with growing horror, all of these deaths are of Jedi.

Thousands upon thousands, all in a single moment.

Something has happened. Something is wrong. So very, very wrong.

He kneels, picking up his gimmer stick, a grim set to his mouth. He reaches out to the Force, chaotic as it is, searching, hoping for an answer.

It comes from an unexpected place.

He hears Commander Gree approaching behind him, the same time that his Force signature wavers and then expands outwards. Taught him to broadcast, Master Luminara must have, he thinks. He reaches out through the Force and latched onto the threads of the Commander's presence.

Yoda only gets sensations at first: panic, desperation. He can't understand why the Commander would feel such a thing. Then thoughts filter in.

 _G – eral! You have to stop us!_

Stop them? Yoda's brow furrows in thought. The Commander's presence is steadily moving closer.

 _You have to get out!_ Commander Gree projects, loud and frantic. _Order 66 has been – GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

Yoda jerks away from the mental contact, startled by the intrusion. That was not the Commander. Yoda frowns. And yet. He reaches out again, grasping the threads more firmly. Yes. The strange intrusion is one with the Commander's presence. What does that mean? Why does it make him uneasy?

Gree's panic has skyrocketed. It's flowing off the man in waves so great it's threatening to drown him. The Commander comes to a halt behind him and Yoda feels that desperate tug in his mind yet again.

 _General! We're going to kill you! Stop us, sir, STOP US!_

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

Yoda hears Gree and Scout arm up behind him. He stops thinking and _moves_ , years of training and instinct surging forward in a single breath. His lightsaber springs forth, the green blade slicing through both metal and flesh with ease before he flings the two troopers back with a wave of his hand.

Tarfful and Chewbacca let out startled howls.

He frowns, adrenaline singing in his blood, feeling unbalanced even as the wrongness fades. He examines the troopers' wounds. He'd sliced through both of the blasters aimed at him, but he'd also caught Gree's left hand and most of the lower half of his right arm in the stroke. Scout has retained all of his limbs, but his blasters' battery pack exploded after the initial strike, leaving him scorched.

This is troubling. Most troubling.

Commander Gree's reaction leads him to believe this was not the Commander's choice. There is also the strange presence he sensed to consider.

The Wookies are urging him to flee and Chewbacca offers his back. Yoda hops onto the Wookie's shoulders as he reaches for the only other Jedi on Kashyyyk.

 _Master Luminara, been betrayed, we have!_

 _I know!_ Is the swift reply. _I don't understand! What's happened?_

 _Know, I do not._ Yoda thinks of Gree's desperation, of his plea. _Not of the clones doing, this is. Want this, they would not. Defend yourself, you must._

Yoda can sense the conflict in the other Master. _I will, Master. Go. And may the Force be with you._

 _And with you, young one._

"Return to Coruscant, I must," he says to his companions.

The Force hums ominously. Dark and dangerous the galaxy has become in a way that it was not just moments before. Yoda feels it resonating in his bones.

The Fall has only just begun.

* * *

 **End arc.**

 **Just letting you guys know that updates are probably going to be slowing waaaaaay down. I've reached the end of the stuff I've typed up pre-posting and working full time limits how much writing time I have. That said, I will try and update as often as I can!**

 **Until next time,**

 **~Elri**


	12. Breathe: Aero

**This turned out to be an extremely appropriate chapter for Mother's Day. I swear it wasn't planned that way.**

* * *

Breathe

Aero

* * *

It happens at home.

He's in class, getting ready to start a training exercise with his brothers when the screaming starts. He and his brothers go down, their instructor too, all of them clutching at their heads.

 _Execute Order 66._

He feels like the wind has been knocked out of him, his breath leaving him in a rush. He can't breathe. He doesn't understand, this - this wasn't in their training. And he knows that he isn't anywhere near finished with his training, but this wasn't even _hinted_ at and it goes against everything that he's been taught.

 _Good soldiers follow orders._

The first thing any clone ever learns is that they were made for the Jedi.

The Jedi are the reason they are alive, the reason that they draw breath.

So why is this thing in his head telling him to kill that reason?

 _Good soldiers follow orders._

No, no, no, this can't be right. This isn't right. He can't do this. He can't. He can't, he can't he can't, _he won't_.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

He can't breathe.

He's at home. He's at home and for all that he understands logically that it's impossible given the state of the galaxy, home is supposed to be safe. Home is supposed to be safety and protection and family.

Not this. Never this.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

"Aero, get up," Matchstick says, grabbing his arm and hauling him upright, "We need to move."

He feels himself nodding before he even realizes what he's doing and starts following the other cadets back to their barracks.

But why?

Why?

They can't do anything here. They're home, not on the front lines. There are no Jedi -

He stops.

That's wrong.

There is. There's always one Jedi on Kamino. He's seen her, he knows her, he's talked to her. He's sat with her while she meditated and listened as she taught his brothers about the shades of gray in galaxy. She's the one who found him curled in a corner after his first training exercise and talked him down from a panic attack.

She's the one who reminds him how to breathe.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

 _General_ , he thinks, gripping the thought with both hands and _shoves_ it straight back at the voice.

It shrieks at him. It claws and pulls and tears, but he's a clone trooper and he was taught never to take anything lying down so he shoves right back.

 _GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

 _Mine_ , he screams back at it, shoving it away, _Ours! You can't have her!_

He pushes and pulls and tugs and beats the voice back until it's just a faint echo in the back of his head. He blinks and ignores the pounding at his temples. He may be a cadet, but he's still a clone trained for war. There's a time and a place for everything and there are more important things to worry about than a little headache.

He glances around at his brothers and sees nothing out of the ordinary.

Except their eyes.

Their eyes aren't right.

They're too cold, too blank, too distant.

He wonders if they're screaming back inside their heads too or if they're following orders.

He drifts to the back of the group, ducking around a corner as soon as he deems it safe and _runs_. It's about noon and General always meditates in the empty training room near the west side hanger bay before going to lunch.

He runs faster than he ever has in his six years of life. His lungs burn and his chest is heaving and it hurts to breathe but he has to. He _has_ to.

He hears it before he sees it - the hum of a lightsaber, the sound of blaster fire.

And then General Ti is rounding the corner, armed and ready, lightsaber just barely missing his cheek. The heat still sears his skin and his breath catches in his throat at the sight of the wild look in his General's eyes.

It's wrong.

General Ti is always calm, always collected. Always, always, always. But she isn't right now and the look of betrayal and heartbreak on her face makes his lungs seize.

There are footsteps pounding down the hall and General Ti jerks to look over her shoulder. He's an unarmed cadet, not even fully grown and hardly a threat in this situation. And he has never been more grateful because that means that his General all but dismisses him to focus on his brothers.

It means that she's too slow to stop him when he darts in and grabs the hand holding her lightsaber and forcing the blade across his right forearm - close enough to sear and burn and damage, but not enough to cause irreversible harm. General Ti whips around to stare at him with wide eyes as he forces the blade through his right shoulder.

It burns.

It hurts more than anything he's ever experienced before in his life, but he shuts away the pain, shoves it aside in a neat little box and locks it away. Pain is for later. Right now the mission comes first.

His right arm is his dominate arm, as is the case with most clones. The damage, while not serious, will prevent him from fighting. However, he knows lightsabers and what they can do and knows that the wounds he's just given himself can be recovered from. But they look bad.

And that's the entire point.

His thumb flicks over the switch on the lightsaber, shutting it down, and while his General is still shocked, he shoves her into the training room and shuts the door. He collapses against the wall just as his older brothers round the corner.

"What are you doing out here, kid?" the lead asks, and Aero can feel his gaze lingering on the lightsaber burns in his arm.

"Sorry, sir," he gasps out, gritting his teeth as he shifts it arm into a more comfortable position, "She got past me."

He hears a few of them sigh and a mutter about upstart rookies, but the lead shakes his head and places a gentle hand on his uninjured shoulder.

"That's alright, kid," he says, "You leave the rest of it to us, yeah? You head over to medical and get that looked at."

Aero manages a nod, plastering a disappointed look on his face as he gestures down the hall he'd come from. "She ran that way, sir."

His older brother nods and feels a moment of guilt that he quickly squashes.

 _Not the time_ , he reminds himself.

A few minutes later, when the sound of footsteps has faded, he opens the door. General Ti is standing on the other side, lightsaber hilt in hand, watching him with unreadable eyes.

"Aero," she says after a moment and her voice his calm, but there's a strange undercurrent to it that's never been there before, "What is going on?"

He flinches and haltingly explains what happened, what is happening. His General doesn't make a sound, her expression blank.

"And why," she asks when he's finished, "are you not effected?"

"I am," he admits without hesitation, unable to keep his shame out of his voice at that simple fact, "But you're my General."

General Ti blinks, looking more bemused than anything, before her lips quirk up ever so slightly. "I suppose I am."

He nods firmly and grabs her free hand. "We need to get you out of here."

His General nods and allows him to lead her even though she knows these halls just as well as he does. He's glad of it because it means that he can feel the warmth beneath her skin, proof that she's alive despite the distant shrieking in his head.

They stick to the shadows, moving silently until they reach the hanger, General Ti heading straight for a standard fighter, ignoring hers entirely. As she goes to let go of his hand, he finds his tightening automatically.

He can't help it.

She's his General. She's everything. And she's leaving.

His eyes burn and his throat is tight and the pain in his chest makes his wounds seem insignificant.

"Aero," she says calmly, gently.

"Sorry," he chokes out even as he squeezes her hand tighter, "Sorry. Sorry, General. I'm - "

General Ti tugs him close, free hand curling around the back of his neck. "Hush," she says softly, "Breathe."

He sucks in a sharp breath, releasing it slowly.

"Again," his General instructs.

He does. In, hold, and then out.

Slowly, he feels the panic ebb even as the heartbreak remains.

"Sorry, Mom," he murmurs without thinking and then freezes.

His head jerks up, panic rushing back as he looks at his General's shocked expression. She wasn't supposed to find out. She wasn't ever supposed to know. She's a Jedi and that's not how they work, but it was different for clones. Clones were brothers, family. Jango Fett was their 'dad' in a way, but none of them had a mother - because test tubes didn't count no matter how many jokes they all made. But General Ti was kind and patient and while they were all pretty sure that she was not at all what a mother was supposed to be, that didn't stop them from whispering about it, from referring to her as such in the privacy of their own minds.

"Aero, _breathe_."

He doesn't. He can't.

He told her.

She knows.

She'll say no because she's a Jedi and he's just a clone and -

General Ti pulls him close, wraps her arms around him as best she can with his death grip on one of her hands.

"Breathe, youngling," she says against his ear, "It's alright."

Almost against his will, he sinks into her hold. She's warm and _safe_ and his General-Mother.

"Sorry," he mumbles into her robe.

She chuckles. "It's alright, Aero. I'm not upset. You have nothing to apologize for."

"Still sorry."

She pulls away then and Aero lets her because as much as he might want to cling, it's not safe for her to linger here.

Home isn't safe.

Not anymore.

"Come on, Aero," General Ti says, opening the fighter's cockpit.

Aero blinks, noticing for the first time that the fighter is a double. "But - General! I - I can't!" he splutters, gesturing helplessly at his head. He can't; it's not safe for her to be around him right now.

His General-Mother somehow manages to look both serene and highly unimpressed. "Surely you didn't think I would leave you here alone after this, did you?"

"But - "

"In," she says, nodding pointedly at the seat behind her, her voice leaving no room for arguments.

He gulps, part of him screaming to disobey, to keep her safe, to run, to refuse, but the other, much larger part very much wants to listen.

"Yes, sir," he says, strapping himself in.

"Close your eyes," his General-Mother instructs as she starts the ship, "Focus inward, find your center."

Aero does as he's told, starting the meditation exercise that she has led him and his brothers through countless times.

"Forget the outside world," she says, calm and steady in the center of the storm, "Forget the things that hold you down. Let them go."

Aero feels himself sinking, deeper and deeper still. The voice from before is still echoing around him, tugging, enticing. He feels it pulling him in.

"Let it wash over you, Aero. It cannot control you if you do not let it."

That's right.

This is his body. His mind. His world. He's the one in control here, not the voice. He is the one in charge. He won't let the voice win - not when his reason for disobeying it is sitting right in front of him.

His General.

His Mother.

He's in control.

And no one can take that from him.

"Breathe."

He does.

* * *

 **Shaak Ti is badass clone mama. Aero will drop kick anyone who disagrees through a window.**

 **Until next time,**

 **~Elri**


End file.
